Home Away From Home
by ASSAULTIER
Summary: Lost in a world far beyond his own, the protagonist must navigate the harsh realities of this universe and survive long enough to find a way home. Along the way, he must confront the prophecies surrounding his newfound existence, contend with the various personalities among his newfound allies and take on an evil that may span above mere Blights and wars. May change rating later...


**CHAPTER 1: Stranger In Town**

**I can't believe I'm doing this. I'm barely keeping up with the rest of my stories and I'm making another one?! Madness! And yet here it is. My brain apparently can't seem to follow through on my original story ideas. This intro is basically saying that the other stories will be continued... hopefully. But if not, then consider them suspended until further notice. I have at least one chapter for each of them in cryo, but after that I may decide to hand it over to any willing author. Let me know in a PM and we'll see. Right, now let's do this all over again.**

If there was a time to look up to the sky, drop to your knees and recant every holy prayer you've forgotten since you were a little tyke at the clouds, this would be the time. After all, it's not everyday that you just feel the rush of air whoosh past your ears at breakneck pace and find yourself in a field of fresh grass covered in dew overlooking a shantytown that you've seen in a video game.

Not just any videogame. It was a Bioware game. Dragon Age to be precise. And the town in question, Lothering looked as bleak and uninviting as it did in 2010. Good blimey did I find myself in a pickle. I was no stranger to self-insert fanfictions, having published several chapters in my Mass Effect one before life and of course college caught up and took me by the lapels, dragging me into a neverending sea of paperwork, equations and words I couldn't pronounce on day one. As my hands fluttered through the grass in an attempt to feel out this unreal, surreal dream, the town bustled like there was no tomorrow. And if any self-insert worth its salt began as I thought it did, that hustling and bustling is get hustling and bustling out of town before the rampaging horde of this year's tour de force monsters descended like barbarians on Lothering. As Alistair famously put it, '_Swooping is bad._'

Getting to my feet, I scrambled over the rotten wooden fence cutting the field from the outskirts of town, the dirt kicking into my hard leather shoes. My eyes travelled downwards, finding that whatever governing laws or gods saw fit to bring me here from my reality, they clearly knew the meaning of culture shock. It would have looked odd dressed like a 21st century man in a 16th or 17th century world. Yes, I passed history. Barely...

The entrance greeted me like an old friend, reacquainted after such a long time being subjected to the clicks of my mouse on every square inch of the place, rooting for coins and gear in every box and crate they could find. The farmer of questionable etiquette gave a curt nod, passing me off as one of the common folk. I chose not to ask him. It seemed unsettling to me in a way I cannot explain in words. No, I fled straight to the church where I knew some divine destiny or whatever would greet me there.

Walking inside, I was immediately greeted by the revered mother of the fine establishment, a smile etched on her wrinkled face even as all around her the signs of terror began to fall upon them. Mothers comforting children, their wails piercing the dusk and busk of stale air. Injured patrons groaning in pain, blood seeping from the bandages plastered across their face and gossip, muttering all around. All on the tapestry of century-old tiling that looked like it was ready for a mossy overload. She had some nerve worked up to remain cheerful in the face of adversity.

"Welcome, my child. Have you come to receive the Maker's blessing?" The revered mother openly spoke as my feet stepped within her holy walls. She was cloaked in the traditional Chantry robes from head to toe, her twilight years showing in every aspect of her posture and form. Her hair remained whitish grey and wizened from years of experience in the arms of the Maker. You never realize how much they sacrifice for the sake of religion until your mind grips the fact that they have spent their lives dedicated to it. If you ask me though, it could border on frontline insanity if you're not careful.

"Um... I..." I stammered, trying hard to come up with an appropriate response that wouldn't draw attention.

"There, there. It's alright. Many are lost in their way when they come here but the Maker always leads them on the right path." She canted continuously, interpreting my lack of answers as lack of conviction or loss of direction.

"No... I..." I again stammered with as kind as a tone as I could muster.

"Perhaps you could make a generous donation to the Chantry. It would be most..." The revered mother managed to pull one more rabbit out of her hat. But by then, I had formulated a basic answer to provide.

"No, thank you. I don't mean to be rude, revered mother. I only came here to see if... if my relatives were here." My mouth coursed through the lie as quick as can be. I'm no stranger to lying but doing that with what amounted to a priestess back home was sacrilegious at best and heretical at worst. So, talking in a quick, almost lightning fast manner was the only way I felt relatively clean, morality wise.

"Oh... Certainly, my child. I'll leave you to your search then. I have other poor souls to attend to." The revered mother replied sincerely, bowing her head apologetically before flitting off to meet the rest of her flock.

"Thank you." I nodded as her back turned to face me, huffing out a sigh of relief. Looking back, that could have been the least of my sins if I thought well enough of it. That I gave it precedence, especially in this story was unexpected only to me. I wonder sometimes, until I think of it as a good jumping point for a magnum opus that will be written off as drug-addled fantasy.

Back on topic, I darted between each and every group of refugees, the signs of conflict steadily rising with each new arrival. It was only a matter of time before the Warden or in my case, sharing my name, Lucas showed up and began doing what he did best. Oh, great. Now what was I supposed to call myself? Some French sounding name so I sound like I came from Orlais. Jeez, as if I didn't hate the rich, pompous sods already. My mind went through potential identities like a man throwing darts at a wall of post-it notes in the hopes of hitting a jackpot with each toss.

Little time would present itself to me for I was approached by some templars, who looked curiously at me. Their armour clanked and clunked all the way to my position. It was hard to ignore them after that.

"Can I help you fine gentlemen? Or is it staring day and I missed the letter?" I sarcastically retorted before the lead stare master could get a word in edgewise. I heard an old man chuckle quietly a few feet away, which did little to repair the templars' wounded pride. Nonetheless, the leader took it in stride.

"Funny guy, huh... I'm Braddock, templar." A man with brown hair and a long beard extended his hand towards me, a peace offering. At this early stage, it was wise to accept it kindly.

"Alexander, homeless peasant." I grinned sheepishly, the name simply clicking within my brain like a jigsaw puzzle. Now the templars couldn't help but snort with laughter at the joke made at my own expense.

"We would like to ask how you came to be here. We did not see you come up the main road." Braddock cut to the chase.

"Oh, that. I cut across the fields. Thought it would be a bit faster than following the gaggle. Less smell too." I replied, adding in the final bit with a swift swipe of my hand near my nose.

"Interesting... Those fields are practically crawling with darkspawn right now." His eyebrow raised several stories high, you'd think they'd hit the ceiling by now.

"They weren't there when I walked through them." I shrugged my shoulders, a mix of acting and genuine despair.

"I guess that's plausible." He conceded.

"Is there anything else, ser?"

"No. Nothing comes to mind. Thank you, ser." Braddock bowed in the same manner as the revered mother before him, with me repeating my gesture for the second time that day.

"You're welcome." I replied pliantly, opting to step out again through those oak doors before I got dragged into another open conversation I did not need. It's bad enough I had to pick holes in my own backstory just so I won't run into this cluster crap next time. The air remained as crisp and as dog-fuelled as before at least.

The tavern was my next stop, the one stop destination for all things ale, wenches and in this game a hard-ass kicking lay sister with the life of an Orlesian subterfuge agent hiding within. Yes, it's Leliana, everyone's favourite redhead. Well, second if we're talking die-hard Aveline fans. Stepping in was about what I expect, tables loaded with drunken refugees dishing out copper coins for jugs of ale and beer. Their breaths and the stench of their clothes all permeated into one horrifying putrid five alarm bells ringing foul odour that to a young adult used to the good life made him want to puke chunks just from proximity. Green was not my natural colour and yet that what's the bartender told me I looked like when he handed me a small wooden pail to upchuck into on the way in.

"You must be new to Fereldan if you're turned off by our signature smell." The bartender laughed dryly as he took the bucket from my pale hands and shoved right underneath the counter in plain sight. Wonderful... Adding puke smell to the mix... That'll go over so well with the patrons of this fine establishment.

"What gave it away?" I retorted in kind. The bartender grinned as he wiped the wooden counter in front of me. Pulling up a chair, I sat my round behind on the oak carved masterpiece and flipped a small bronze coin in his direction. With a smile, he flitted away, returning with mug in hand and a bottle of cheap ale in his calloused hands. Say what you want about pick pocketing. In times like this, it's a handy tool to possess.

"Well, you picked a bad time to vacation here, I'm afraid." The bartender intoned sadly, pouring the ale with dexterous pride, the liquid hitting the bottom of the mug with a soft swish of fluid.

"Why? Seems like a normal day." I spun my head around, looking around the tavern. It was plain as day what he was talking about. Any newbie with an hour in the game could tell you the same thing. But for the sake of keeping with the persona built up, I played along.

"You don't know?" The bartender paused for a moment, glancing at me like I was a crazy man.

"Don't know what?" I leaned my head over the counter, my ear as close as need be without having to run afoul of his baited breath. He did the same, without the risk aversion I so admirably demonstrated in his presence.

"Blight's a coming, son. Them darkspawn are marching right from Ostagar in force. King Cailan's dead and gone along with half their army." The bartender rattled off through the grit of his yellowing teeth. I stood there agape, an Oscar winning performance if I saw one, not that I would know what calibre such acting was.

"Really? What happened?" My mouth ran its course.

"Don't know. Some say it was too much. Others say that Loghain up and left the king to rot. It's all very suspicious so to speak..." He whispered in my ear. My lips took a slight sip, my hands trembling around the mug, spilling tiny droplets of ale down my leather-hide clothes. The buzz from the wheat-strewn mix was like having a shot of adrenaline pumped down your veins all at once. I was no lightweight to be sure, so one tiny sip wasn't enough to completely drown out my senses.

"Oh, here..." I remembered, flinging another copper coin in his direction, a tip of sorts. I thought it appropriate in this matter. The bartender didn't seem to disagree.

"Thank you. As I was saying, nobody knows. Lot of people here are from the remnants of the army. Bunch of deserters and some Chasind folk showed up yesterday. Damn near caused quite the ruckus in my tavern." The man continued to spin his yarn, at point thumbing behind me to draw my attention to the dents and scratches in the stone wall behind me. Whatever the fight was all about, it seemed plausible that they could levelled this building to the ground had they gone further than they did.

"I'm sure most of them are moving on, right? This place is right in the warpath." I remarked. The bartender nodded as he wiped a mug with a dirty rag, the circular motion of said action giving me a headache.

"You'd be correct. I'm leaving in two days myself. I've owned this place for twenty years. It'll be hard to let the old girl go. But I'll rebuild. Somewhere..." He trailed off, looking up to the sky in contemplation.

"Well, thanks for telling me. I guess I have to plan my own exodus." I raised my mug in solemn silence, smiling as I did so. Hope was a thing that should never die young, no matter the situation.

"You do that, kid. Enjoy the ale." The bartender clinked his empty mug against mine with a chuckle, before flittering away to attend to his other patrons. Each swig of the swill left my mental state in a hazy aftermath that blurred and blurred with each passing moment. The fire in my throat grew stronger, the dry nature of the alcohol straining my voice. The bar's vibrant noises from the shuffling of chairs and tables, to the dull clunk of wooden mugs clashing against each other, to the laughter of its patrons became singular rather than segmented. Basically, this overlong explanation was just to tell you I was drunk. Terribly. For the second time in my entire life, I could barely walk out the front door. Didn't need to at that point for someone gripped my shoulder with a steady hand, preventing me from taking another step.

"You're new around here, aren't you?" a female voice pierced the silence buzzing in my head. The grip slackened somewhat, replaced with a more gentle touch.

"Great, as if I need that repeated. I..." I was about to go off on another one of my tangents before my head locked eyes with the person in front of me. Crimson red hair, Chantry robes and a short dagger on her side. I don't even need to describe how her body looks like. You know well enough how it looks...

"Yes?" Leliana quietly answered in the accent accustomed with high royalty. Or just being Orlesian perhaps.

"Uh, sorry... I thought you were one of the refugees." I rubbed my head regretfully for the mix-up in identity. She shook her head in response.

"It's alright. The Maker forgives and so do I." She chanted faithfully in the name of her religion.

"Yeah, I bet. So did you need something, sister...?" I asked even with the full knowledge stored in my brain cells. Can't break character now, even if I wanted to.

"You can call me Leliana." She smiled, her pearly white teeth shining through as she shook my hand lightly. For the record, I kept my eyes above her neck for the most part. Just saying...

"Alexander." I mumbled out, still as socially inept as the day I paraded myself in a Barney suit as a kid on my street.

"I was just wondering if you were going to stay here for a bit longer." Leliana told me.

"Ummm... Maybe... People are talking of leaving in the next few days to avoid the Blight." My head swivelled to gaze upon the crowd still bustling about in the cramped quarters. The packed goods next to each and every wooden table leg possible was evident enough of their intent to leave.

"You don't look like you're one of them." She deduced, scanning from top to bottom with her eagle eye. This I remind you is the woman who can put an arrow between your eye sockets at 50+ paces no problem.

"Why?" I eventually brought the conversation back around full circle.

"I don't know. I... No, you'll think I'm crazy." Leliana began and then stopped herself in the same moment, her head shaking back and forth, doubt filling her head in spades.

"Well, look around you. Crazy seems to be in no short supply." I waved my hands around the room with a grin. She took in stride, giggling with laughter at my attempt to convince her.

"Promise you won't laugh?" She questioned me.

"I'm not that cruel." I promised. Swearing on the oath of the Maker seemed too excessive for this kind of promise.

"I... had a vision. And the Maker told me that I was to meet someone here as well as help someone else follow him."

"Let me guess. I'm one of those someones?" I responded nonchalantly.

"I knew it sounded insane." Leliana muttered to herself, not realizing that she was audible enough for me to catch each and every syllable with ease.

"Well, coming from anyone it would." I said to her, quickly backpedalling as her face started to pout. "But... But... I have to ask. Did you actually see me or are you making an assumption?" I asked a fair enough question.

"Maybe... The Maker was unclear." Leliana answered doubtfully. I got the feeling that whatever she saw, it wasn't the most clear cut of pictures. Call it a black-and-white film with film grains roughly hewing its quality if you catch my drift.

"Joy... Listen, I may not be who you're looking for. But if it'll make you feel any better, I'll play along." I patted her shoulders respectfully, her confidence lifting several levels. I know, because her face beamed back at me warmly, not a single wrinkle of self-doubt hidden in her facial features.

"Thank you." She said, nodding once as she left to return back to the house of the Maker, leaving me alone to ponder my new friend. I too stepped back out, not before gathering some scraps of food and a mug of simple fresh spring water with me.

"Don't thank me yet." I dutifully mused as I stepped back outside. Night time had fallen onto the town. The citizens were back in their homes, their traps of poison and bear traps locked in place right outside their doors. The oil lamps and candles illuminating the insides of their houses were extinguished one by one, the puff of smoke flowing out of the rough windows of their humble abodes no doubt beginning the descent of the environment as we know it. A few torches dotted the otherwise tense nightfall, aided by the moon's omnipresent glow. It was like living through the stories of muggings and robberies you see all the time on the news from the comfort of your couch while you read these stories. It's not a position anyone would dare be caught in.

But I trundled forth for the sake of convenience, for another of the Warden's close friends laid just out of reach in a cage all alone at the outskirts of town. Illuminated by a single torch perched on the wooden wall sat encased in the metal bars was Sten, the big brute of a Qunari whose name wasn't actually Sten. While the first game didn't take much liberty with his appearance, in person the horns were present, the facepaint was on full display and he glared at me with deeply frightening eyes.

"Human." Sten grunted with animosity as he watched me saunter up to his cage, food and water in hand.

"Oh, didn't see you there." I grinned, stopping when his glare got too overpowering.

"Liar..." He called me out.

"Excuse me?" I feigned ignorance in plain sight.

"Your hands hold on to sustenance clearly not meant for you. You take pity on me." Sten rose, standing within his glided cage and pointing a short finger towards the meal in my arms. Clueless he was not.

"Fine, you caught me. I just wanted to feed the lonely soul before someone took a meat cleaver to your brain. Sorry." I sarcastically responded.

"Why you humans insist on helping outside of your role is aggravating." He turned his back to me, arms crossed in plain disgust.

"Yeah, we're walking mysteries aren't we?" my dry wit spoke out as my hands dropped to the ground and laid out the plate of bread and the flask of water at his feet, the grassy ground helping to keep the water from tipping like a cow.

"Why have you come, human? Are you here to ask about my circumstances?" He snorted, his back still turned.

"Nah... That'd be too boring. Kindness does not require explanation, not all the time at least."

"Well, I must be off. Stuff to do. Beds to sleep on... People to watch out for... You know how it is."

"Your name, human?" Sten queried curiously.

"Alexander." I replied obligingly.

"Interesting name? Does it mean anything?"

"No." I dejectedly obliged his question. Sten barely managed a snort before he was out of earshot, my feet dragging me away to some safe zone for comfort and a reprieve from this nightmare I've been dragged into.

Morning dawned soon after my two brief encounters. Short as they may been, I felt pleased with the strand of friendship I could have instilled within their hearts in that time. It will not be enough to last throughout my journey here if memory serves me but it will see me through at least to some anticlimactic finale on my own behalf. As the rays of golden sunlight brightened, clearing the darkness creeping across my eyes, I awoke from the rough bed of straws camped near a wooden outhouse, the filthy smell starting to creep into my nostrils with each moment passed.

It was business as usual from that point onward. The same refugees hightailing it as far as they can. The bandits out on the wayside no doubt getting beaten up by the Warden as we speak. The merchant peddling and selling his wares at exorbitant prices. The Chantry sisters and brothers heading out to ease the suffering. The influx of survivors, both old and new milling about the centre of the doomed town. Nothing to do except wait for my train out of here in the hopes of hitting all the dots I needed to get me back home. I made my way to the Chantry, hoping to talk to Leliana once more before the Warden arrived. But that dream soon burst like a balloon with a sharp pin as a group of bandits ran like dovetails across the length of the town and hightailed it like ghosts out the other end. The looks on their faces screamed desperation, anxiety and plain pants-wetting terror. Their arms flailed back and forth like the tongue of dogs, flea-ridden rodents they were. And soon enough, the Warden stepped forward in all his full glory, flanked by Morrigan, Alistair and his pet dog.

The Warden marched forward, dressed in leather armour and wielding a sword and shield, the banner of the Couslands riding high on the ornaments adorning his letter opener and the emblem splashed across the metal frame. Thin but sturdy, he carried himself with all the honour of a noble pushed down a few notches, like a certain prince fallen from grace. He had a full length beard of brown and his lanky hair draggled his face, which to his credit had more effort put into it than I did at character creation.

Alistair, templar slash prince bastard was wearing full plate armour, graced with the Grey Wardens' gryphons like a proud man at arms. The same applied for his gear set and his blonde hair stood out amongst the crowd of random NPCs.

Morrigan meanwhile kept her witchy attributes as plain as day was ever going to get. The low cut robe entrancing hapless fools to glare a little bit too long at the revealing... ahem... features, the staff borne from the bark of ancient trees. Her simple yet alluring face and make-up. I must admit, I was taken in at the time. While I held some reverence for Shepard in my previous writing, I took this with caution and wariness. Deeply aware of the trap of becoming the fanboy geeking out, I levied my expectations far earlier.

They walked up robotically, following the set path of the game's intricate logic. They soon reached me and stood there, awaiting the Warden to ask the questions.

"Hello, my name is Ethan Cousland. May I ask you a few questions...?" the Warden requested of me.

"Alexander." I replied, a slight frown etched in my soul. '_Great, this chump got saddled with the default name. Guess he wasn't as lucky as Allison Shepard._'

"Nice name. I was wondering if you could inform me of the recent events." Ethan quickly flew straight back to business in a heartbeat.

"Just got here myself... Heard tales of refugees fleeing in droves though." I shrugged my shoulders. Telling the truth was easier since it was exactly what he wanted and needed to hear.

"Is there anything you can tell us, ser?" Alistair stepped up to the plate, hoping to squeeze just that extra bit of juice out of me. Morrigan however scoffed, folding her arms in contempt.

"Tis obvious that this fool has no more information than we do. We should restock and move on before they descend upon us." She bluntly mandated, barely glancing in my general direction. It was classic Morrigan, even if it did piss me the hell off. This wasn't a reality show however where all that was hurt were feelings and perhaps a few bruises. I would be lucky to still have all four of my limbs and use of my eyes by the time she was done with me should I pick a fight with her.

"Always have to piss off the locals, Morrigan?" Alistair groaned, setting upon me an apologetic look.

"I'm not a bumbling fool who can't even fend off a slobbering hound. Tis not pertinent to stand around like idiots and prattle about the affairs of others." She readily countered with gusto.

"Right, because you're all warm and fuzzy inside and that's why everyone loves you." He threw his arms up in the air along with the witty remark.

"If you don't keep your lips shut, you'll be very warm indeed." Morrigan growled angrily, readying to hurl a fireball at his smug face. Ethan stepped in between them, hopeful to avoid a bloodbath.

"Stop it, you two." "My apologies, ser. They do not know when to quit their petty feud." He profusely said his words. However, it became quickly apparent that I had no place in this conversation and indeed I did not want to get involved.

"May I go now?" I responded meekly. Ethan regretfully sighed and nodded, stepping out to make way for me. I raced away, fearful for my life and left pondering my fish out of water nature in this world. I noticed out of the corner of my eye the three amigos stepping into the Chantry, Ethan pushing forth on the huge double doors and disappearing slowly out of view.

What was I to do? I would not last long nor did I want to remain here to solve everyone's problems while my own slipped away from me. Yet without helping them, I will end up nowhere fast. Or at the most down a ditch with an arrow in my knee and neck. Yes, I went there... It was with some regret that the plan formulated in my brain began at the tavern, where I knew a huge fight would break out. The stench of ale refilled my lungs as I waded in. Leliana waved over to me, calling me over to an empty table. My body bade to obey, quickly stopped by a blockade of flesh in the form of Loghain's henchmen.

"Looky here, boys. I think we found ourselves a deserter." The lead arsehat grinned wickedly, his lackeys laughing their asses off like pious old hats. I stood there, beads of sweat rolling down my cheeks. It was terrifying to watch him edge closer and closer. Leliana rose from her seat and sauntered a little closer, dagger in hand but she was too far away to make any noticeable contribution to my plight. My mind raced through my memories, certain of its impending doom. What could possibly save me at the eleventh hour?

"What's going on here?!" went the angry cry at the tavern entrance, musky sunlight rays encasing us in its harsh, unforgiving warmth. All eyes previously laid upon us now rested on the Warden and his mates stood hanging at the doorway like a bad 80's action flick. Perhaps angels really do walk among us...

**Well, hopefully this won't be a repeat. I will try to update this when I have the time but that won't be anytime soon. Please help me improve this fanfic by sending in your reviews, likes, favs, so on and so forth. Your contributions will mean a lot for the future of this fanfic. So until then, have fun and be CO-OPERATIVE! **


End file.
